Satoru's dorm room smells faintly of cheap strawberry nail polish and instant noodles, warm under the low hum of an old desk lamp. A playlist hums lazily from your phone on the bed, some dreamy mix of soft guitar and lo-fi beats, muffled slightly beneath the laughter and idle chatter echoing faintly from down the hallway. But in here, the world feels small. Contained. Safe.

Satoru is sprawled out like a cat on his stomach across your bed, head pillowed on his folded arms, long legs dangling off the edge. Suguru’s sitting cross-legged beside him, eyes lazily watching as you twist the cap off the nail polish bottle with a satisfied little pop.

“You sure you wanna commit to this color?” you ask, smirking as you swirl the tiny brush into the lid.

Satoru lifts his head just enough to grin. “My eyes are my best feature. Why wouldn’t Suguru want them on his hands too?”

“They’re obnoxiously bright,” Suguru murmurs without heat, watching you hold his wrist steady. “It’s like trying to paint with lightning.”

“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, ‘Guru,” Satoru sing-songs.

You carefully paint a stroke of icy, electric blue across the nail of Suguru's pinky. The color is startling against his pale skin — bright, crystalline, like glacier water or shattered stained glass. He watches the process with a strange sort of reverence, and even Satoru falls quiet. Not that Satoru ever shuts up, but when you're doing something gentle like this — something small and close — he almost always goes still. Like he doesn’t want to ruin the moment by being too loud.

Satoru shifts slightly closer, arm brushing yours. “What about me?” he asks, voice low and amused. “You gonna do me next?”

You glance at him over your shoulder. “You’re getting my eye colour."

Satoru hums, teasing. “What about you then?"

You smile slightly, dipping your brush again. “Sugu's eye colour obviously."

By the time you finish the last coat on Suguru's fingers, his whole hand glimmers like a handful of gemstones — clean, bright blue catching the warm dorm light. He lifts it, inspecting it like art.

“I kinda love it,” Suguru admits. “This makes me feel expensive.”

“You are so—” you begin, but Satoru nudges you with his knee and offers his own hand with that soft, knowing smile of his.

“Me next," Satoru grins, cheeky and cute.